XXIX - Immortal Interventions

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I am a colossal fuck up.

I forget. I forget and I forget and I forget and when you don't think I can forget anymore I am absolutely fucking blindsided once again by the true and terrible nature of what my family is.

Capricious, awful, bored, fitful, jealous, arrogant little shits with little regard for anyone or anything that does not provide them with instant, gratifying amusement.

I knew — I knew! — something was off the minute I declared myself happy under the ministrations of Adras' tongue. The writhing and panting and pleasure dying quickly with an ice cold stab of wrong right in my gut. It was so fleeting, so temporary that I was able to sidestep it, pretend it was just a fluke. But it got worse. The ick and the wrongness grew; magnified, swelled.

I was too buoyed up by the promise of completing our mission, the visions of Parnathains throwing flowers at my feet and cheering my arrival, rushing out to greet me and begging for a brief touch of my fingertips to their forehead.

I was too — and I hate myself for admitting it — Olympian to notice the signs. To taste the warning. The harder I tried to fight against my hopes and ignore the feeling that something was off, the more withdrawn I became. I had to find it. Had to seek the source. Had to eradicate the issue before it overthrew our entire project.

What I was experiencing, what I was feeling didn't have a name.

Now I know. Now that I've seen the destruction. 

The feeling was mercy. It was a plea for help. It was the demand for deliverance as my family systematically murdered and destroyed an entire city. The longer it went on, the more haunted I became. I couldn't find the origin until this morning when the final soul winked out. When the fires stopped burning. When there was a hole large enough in my vision to pinpoint the location of horror.

They took their time. They waited. They played.

Adras and I arrive in the throne room of the Parnathan palace with a howling, feral screech. Looking up, I see the Queen and King sitting on twin obsidian thrones. Their firstborn son sits beside them on a silver chair. If they are surprised to see Adras and a wild woman appear out of thin air, they do not show it. They sit stoic and motionless. Not even a blink or gasp betrays them.

Below them, separated from the royal family by the rise of a handful of marble steps is the unbelievable sight of Hades, Aphrodite, and Ares standing in wait.

Before the dust has settled on our arrival, an arrow flies from Ares' ready bow — aimed at Adras' heart. In the nanosecond it takes to soar towards us, I catch it and hurl it back in his direction. A screech, mortal and inhumane, rips from Ares' throat before he explodes into a puff of orange smoke — the arrow delivering a fatal blow through his stomach.

Adras gasps. 

Ares reappears, flickering back into existence.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I roar, using the rusty and ancient language of the gods. The words pour out of my mouth with acidic brutality and the panic of a hurricane. The words freeze the hot, humid air that swirls within the throne room. Snappy, icy rain falls as my words echo throughout the chamber.

"Hello, Eris, my dear," Hades coos, smirking and sliding his hands behind his back. He rocks back onto his heels and tries to disarm me with his best smile. "Rude of you to evaporate Ares like that. Though, it seems he's no worse for wear."

"Don't make me repeat myself." I thunder. Sparks of lightning sizzle between my fingertips and within the limp, heat-and-ash weighted tangles of my hair. "I'll attack you, too."

Eris and the Mortal GodWhere stories live. Discover now